After a short time scribbling, the nouveau poet was prepared to exhibit his second offering. He cleared his throat importantly and announced,
"Ode to a Grape, by France's foremost authority on the subject..."
"Here here!" Cried Bossuet and Bahorel. Grantaire shot them a good-natured glare,
"I begin again, ahem." He looked around to make sure all at the table were paying attention, and started,
"Ode to a Grape,
"Oh thou sacred sphere late of the vine!
Come hither with thy brothers, hither,
Distill thou swiftly of thy precious liquor,
And ferment into pleasant, tasty wine!
"My dainty dear! Oh come girl, to my lap
Dally with me while I now drain my glass,
Your little charms, while hardly unsurpassed,
Will seem Hellenic to me, once I've drained this sap..."
"And we all know what he thinks of Helen," Interjected Bahorel, which drew laughter from the table and another glare from R.
"Quiet you!" He snapped, cleared his throat, and continued.
"Oh firebrand! Roar on! Within my ears
Absinthe-amplified, your words like rocks
Or crushed ice rumble, burrow like a fox
And are locked for years.
"Oh sun! Stir me not whence I have fallen!
"Moved by this good fruit to such repose;
Dull days and nights- I've quite enough of those,
Night- when thirst is silent, Day- when drink is calling."
This offering made even more of a sensation that the first, and was met with uproarious laughter from all quarters. Jehan, not entirely recovered from the barb at the Daanan Princess, merely commented blithely on the unorthodox rhyme scheme and admitted, "Overall, not bad."